


Summertime

by Lola1b



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Happy Ending, M/M, Suicide Attempt, mentions of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lola1b/pseuds/Lola1b
Summary: It's summer. Steve wants to go on a road trip, to show Bucky the whole country.
And Bucky doesn't know how to tell him he can't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this late at night, slightly delirious to be honest, when I was locked out of the bathroom for a long time and thus couldn't brush my teeth and go to bed already (thank you, visiting brother who loves to take long baths at our house for some reason). I just had the idea that saving abandoned dogs could be a great way for Bucky to get better. You know, save something defenseless and all that. It reminded me of the silly but effective method of keeping suicidal thoughts at bay; "Can't kill myself tonight, who'll feed my cat?" 
> 
> Anyway, sorry for this. I was very tired but rereading it now it's sort of ok? Please enjoy?

 

Summertime. The AC was off, the windows were open. It was one of those earlier, cooler nights, when a light breeze ruffled the white curtains, softly exposing the glowing night of Brooklyn's streets to the occupants of the spacious living room.

It was nothing like the past. Never in his life would Bucky live in such luxury. Their place was tastefully decorated with modern art Steve had picked out himself. The furniture was simple and tasteful. A sleek black couch sat against a wall of exposed brick. Their TV had 3D capabilities and two gaming systems hooked up to it. In the open kitchen, an expensive coffee machine, a home warming gift from Clint, stood blinking its red light. Bucky reached out to grab the cup from the stand, the scent of coffee permeating the warm air. He took the first sip. His lips curled into a smile.

Steve came out from the hallway, lugging behind two empty suitcases. He was smiling but a slight wrinkle creased his brows.

“Coffee? Buck, it's nearly 8 o'clock.” He set the cases down on the floor.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asked, eyeing the cases. Steve grinned from ear to ear and reached out to gently pull Bucky closer.

“I know it's last minute, but it might be a while before I get this much time off. You know how international politics are. Next week I might be in god knows where, fighting god knows who.”

Bucky let Steve pull him in for a kiss, then sipped at his coffee as Steve unzipped the suitcases and went about spreading them out.

“We'll leave around 8. That alright? That should... with traffic, a few rest stops...”

Bucky wasn't listening. He looked around the apartment. They've been living in it for about a week now. He liked it. The ceiling was high. It felt open and safe. He could see everything in the kitchen and living room from any point in the open space. The hallways were wide, and the solid bricks that hid behind the yellow wallpaper would probably stop most bullets. They were on the top floor and there weren't any good spots for snipers to hide. There were at least three roofs they could easily jump down onto in the case of an emergency. The countertops had speckles of orange dots in the granite. The floors were a rich oak. He loved how washed in red the place was. It felt warm and living.

Steve was still talking. Niagara Falls, and Chicago, and the Grand Canyon, and Las Vegas. What clothes to pack? What to bring with them? Bucky only nodded and smiled.

Snipers couldn't get them. But what about a bomb? What about...

And shampoo. Which should they bring? Should they take one giant bottle or buy the small travel size, refill as needed?

And what if Hydra is still out there? They've tried and tried but the words are still there in his head. Steve is sure they're all gone. No one will ever utter those words.

Should they stop for breakfast tomorrow or eat a hasty meal at home?

“I'm never hungry till lunchtime anyway. Oh, I'll miss my run. Buck?”

Bucky brought the cup up to his lips. “You'll live,” Bucky said wit a grin. Steve beamed back at him.

“This trip will be great, Bucky. I'll drive the whole way. We'll go anywhere you want. We'll do anything you want.”

Bucky remained still and quiet. Flashes of a past. He had been to so many places. Europe, Asia, Africa. He had been in Germany and France, and Estonia and Georgia. He had killed people in Latvia, in England, in Wisconsin. He had seen the world through glassy eyes, through flashes and bits hidden behind a black mask.

“That alright? Bucky, I swear, you're not listening at all.”

“I'm just tryin' to drink my damned coffee,” Bucky replied. Steve was looking at him, his smile strained.

“Anything you want, Buck,” he said again. “Whatever makes you happy.”

His fingers twitched. He wanted to squeeze the coffee mug till it exploded in glass and boiling hot liquid. His Hydra arm was gone, replaced by a Stark model that was slimmer and weaker – an apology for tearing the old one off. But he could still do it. He could break, he could call out. But he couldn't. He just smiled.

“I'm sure I'll think of somethin'.”

Steve gave him a hesitant smile and reached out for him. Bucky set the coffee mug down. He took two giant steps and wrapped his arms around Steve.

Steve laughed. “Finally. I've only been trying to grab your attention all day,” he said, nuzzling his nose against Bucky's.

“Hm? Use it wisely then.”

“Which underwear do you want me to pack?”

Bucky laughed. It wasn't right. He couldn't. He could say something. But he couldn't. He failed. He failed him.

Bucky titled his head up and pressed his lips against Steve's.

“Hmm, oh,” Steve pulled away, “I forgot, I need to stop at the deli before we go. We've got nothing to snack on during the ride.”

“Well, hurry up then. It closes in an hour.”

Steve quickly went to put his shoes on. He sat on the floor, tying his sneakers. Bucky watched him, then handed him his key.

“I'm not gonna need it. You're not going anywhere,” Steve said, a slight wrinkle forming in his otherwise happy expression.

“Take it,” Bucky insisted. “What if I'm in the shower or something? You know this lock's dumb as hell and will lock you out.”

Steve took the key slowly, his face setting grim. Bucky quickly stepped forward and motioned for him to get up from off the floor.

“Kiss me before you go,” Bucky said and pulled Steve in by his shirt.

Steve smiled into the kiss, then pulled back and opened the door. “I'll be back in half an hour. Don't drink too much coffee, we need to be in bed by 11.”

Bucky smiled. “Sure, sure.”

Once he was gone, Bucky went back to the kitchen. He picked up his coffee cup and went to the open window. He saw Steve walking briskly through the night. There were other people around. It was a Saturday night. There was life on the streets. It hummed and buzzed with cheers of a group of young men, with giggles of women, with the scrape of feet on pavement.

He felt disconnected from all of it. When he could no longer see Steve, he wondered if he even existed. Was there ever a man like that? Was he an illusion? It all could have been. It could could still be.

Hydra. The word rolled around thickly in his mouth. He looked at the open suitcases. He was safe here, in this moment.

Bucky set his coffee cup down. He went out into the hall and found his shoes.

 

* * *

 

 

The Brooklyn bridge was shining with lights. Was there a holiday today? He couldn't remember. He forgot what day it was. It was too busy for a weekday. Too many young couples passed him by. It was too hot to be spring. He regretted having to wear long pants. He had scars. He hated how Steve looked at them. He had scars everywhere. He hated them all.

His cap had the Captain America logo on it. He thought it was hilarious when he saw it in one of those stupid kiosks at the mall. He had to have one. He bought another one for Natasha.

He thought he'd feel something. A pang of hurt, maybe. He could see her face, smiling, the knowing in her eyes. He kept going.

He wandered down the long stretch of the bridge, the wind blowing through his hair, threatening to steal his cap away. He stood for a moment. Cars and people passed by, the air shifting around them. A gust of wind came and his hat was torn off from his head. He watched it go and fall into the darkness.

“Sorry, pal,” he said to the cap. He'd miss it. It was well worn and comfortable.

He got to the end and paused. It was now or never. If he stepped off, he'd find a cab or get on the subway. He'd go back home and have to explain to Steve about where he went. Steve would know. He'd get that wrinkle in his brow again and he'd _know_.

He didn't want him to know. Not yet. He'd know soon enough, but Bucky wouldn't be around to see it. He wouldn't be around for Steve to see how he failed.

 

* * *

 

Steve had to use the key. He had buzzed in a couple of times before he decided Bucky wasn't coming. A momentary panic caught him but he calmed himself as the key slotted into place. _He's just in the bathroom, or something_ , he told himself. The door opened and he quickly came in and closed it behind him.

“Bucky?” he called as he headed into the kitchen with his two plastic bags. He set them on the counter, put the food that needed to be in the cooler during the ride in the fridge, and headed out into the hall again. He checked the side rooms on his way first. The room he used as a study. The bathroom. Their private gym that was just two machines and a good stereo. He checked the master bedroom, and then the master bathroom. He spun around, his hands coming up to his head, clutching at his hair.

“Breathe,” he told himself. “He just went for a walk.”

He took out his phone and dialed Bucky's cellphone, imagining him walking along the road, or getting something from the 7-11, something that Steve couldn't buy at the deli that he wanted for tomorrow.

It kept ringing and ringing. Steve hung up. He unpacked one of the plastic bags. He called again. Nothing. He unpacked the other bag. He tried again.

He took a few deep breaths. He went to sit on the couch, then got up again, then went to the balcony and stepped out in the fresh air. Sirens echoed far in the distance. His heart beat faster. He dialed Bucky's phone again. Nothing.

A strangled cry came out of his mouth and he quickly covered it with both hands. _He's okay. He just went out for a walk and his phone died,_ he told himself. He dialed Sam's number.

He wasn't picking up either. His voicemail answered instead. Steve let out a shuddering breath.

“Sam, uh, it's Steve. Call me back. Bucky he – he's not home. He's been acting strange all week. I don't know, I don't know if it's the apartment. The therapist said to keep an eye on him. He was acting – Sam, just call me.”

He tried Natasha next. She picked up on the third ring. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Steve, he probably just stepped out.”

“I know,” Steve said. He ducked back into the living room. “I just – I have a bad feeling. Please, someone's gotta be in the area.”

“How long has it been?”

“Bout an hour now.”

“I'll call Sharon. Steve?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah?”

“I'll be there soon.” Her voice was soft and understanding. It broke something in Steve, made this real somehow. He was only missing for an hour. If even that. It was only an hour. The fact that he'd been acting strange, the fact that he hadn't said where he went, the fact that he wouldn't pick up – that wasn't that strange. He went for a walk. Steve would find him, laugh that he gave him a scare, and they'd walk back together. And tomorrow, they'd start on their road trip.

He left a note on the door for Bucky to call him the moment he came back. He made sure his phone was fully charged.

 

* * *

 

 

It was quieter now. Only a few cars rolled by every now and then. He stepped over the railing. It felt stupid. He should have stayed in the tank. But it was cruel to make Steve put him back there. It was cruel to give him the hope. They tried. He tried. He knew now. He failed and he'd fail again. He'd never be normal. He'd never –

His phone buzzed again. He wondered whether it'd be Steve or Natasha or Sam. Maybe it'd be Sharon. He debated throwing it into the water first. Would it be cold? It was summer. But it was early summer. The ocean must still be freezing.

Would it hurt? Or would it feel comforting, like settling back into a childhood bed?

He surveyed the area again. He wanted to be somewhere secluded. He didn't want to be found by some kid or some poor dock worker. His eyes landed on a small mass of black. It stood out against the murky waters that swept softly over the concrete. It quivered, and he saw what it was.

He stepped over. For a split second he panicked as the air left his lungs, as the wind rushed by his ears. The black mass was shivering. Then came the strike of cold, of ice breaking into his skin, of the water rushing in and covering him in its freezing embrace.

 

* * *

 

 

“Here,” Natasha said, handing Steve a coffee. He waved it away, stood up, took another deep breath. “He's probably –“

“I know, I know,” Steve said. He leaned his palms on his knees and heaved out a breath. “What if he's – what if –“

“You need to tell us why you think something happened, Steve,” Sharon said, stepping forward to put a steadying hand on his shoulder. He straightened out and looked her straight in the eye. “You might be panicking for nothing.”

“I told you. He's been acting strange. Like... mechanically. Like he was playing the part of Bucky Barnes, boyfriend, housemate. But he wasn't there. It... it reminded me – we need to find him.”

Natasha sipped at the coffee and looked down at her phone. “It's almost two a.m. Are you sure we shouldn't check the apartment again?”

“I'll go look,” Sharon suggested. Steve saw the look she and Natasha shared. They didn't believe him. But he knew, he knew in his bones.

“I'll grab us some protein bars,” Natasha said, gesturing with her chin towards the 7-11. “You look like you're ready to topple over.”

He leaned against the wall, his hands squeezing his knees until the knuckles turned white. His phone buzzed. He was sure it'd be Sam, finally returning his call, or Tony, having been called by Sharon or Natasha and asked for help. But he hoped, the entire time, that it'd be Bucky.

His breath left his body completely when he saw the called ID. He nearly dropped the phone in his haste to pick up.

“God, Bucky! Where are you? Please tell me you're okay.”

There was silence for a long moment.

“Bucky? Please, please talk to me. Where are you?”

“Remember...” he heard Bucky's voice, hoarse and cracking, “how I kept dropping my phone in the sink?”

Steve grinned. He wiped at his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. That's why we got water-proof phones now.” He paced around. “Where are you?”

“I'm glad...” Bucky continued slowly.

“That they're waterproof?” Steve asked, confused. He stopped and looked both ways down the street. He couldn't see either Natasha or Sharon.

“Bucky, where are you?”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky said. “I did something stupid. I don't know why I did it.”

Water. He was near water. Steve deliberated for a moment. Then he headed straight for the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Keep talking to me. Where are you?”

“I thought it'd be better for you. Or maybe I'm a coward.”

“Bucky, you're the bravest man I know.” His voice was more breathless now. He was jogging, holding onto his phone as if it was a lifeline.

“I felt like, if I left with you tomorrow, it'd be over. I'd have to be alright. I couldn't... Steve, I know I have to be alright. I know I need to. But I don't know how to want to.”

“Bucky, we don't have to go anywhere.”

“I wanted to. At first. But then... “ his voice was quiet. There was a whimper.

“Bucky?”

“S'not me. Hurry. We're on the shore. Near the bridge. I can see the cars passing by. I can... I can see you.”

Steve spun around, trying to catch his gaze on something human-shaped among the dark shades on either side of the bridge. When he finally spotted him, his heart stopped for what felt like a full minute, before it hit into override.

 

* * *

 

He was wet and there was a long cut on his head. The phone lay discarded. Water was slowly sweeping over his shoes and the phone, and with a few more waves it was pulled into the dark waters.

In Bucky's lap lay a dog. It had matted, black fur. It kept whimpering. Its front left paw was mangled and red, hanging off just by the skin. The poor thing was too weak to protest when Steve lifted it out of Bucky's arms, though its eyes were wild, frightened.

“Careful,” Bucky said, his own voice sounding just as pained as the dog's whimpers. “She's in pain.”

Steve examined the poor thing closer, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. She was large, thin, and had fleas. There were open sores on her body. He looked up at Bucky, his eyes hard with anger and grief.

“Why?” he asked, choking. “Why did you –“ he stopped himself from saying the word _jumped_.

Bucky didn't look up. He didn't know what else to say. Water dripped from his hair. Steve adjusted the dog in his arms so he could grab Bucky's shoulder.

“I was so fucking worried. We searched all night, and you –”

“Please, just get her to a vet. She's going to die.”

Steve swallowed thickly. Bucky was staring with wet eyes at the matted creature. In a moment, he broke out in a sob.

“I'm sorry. Just save her. I don't know what to do.”

Steve moved his hand to the back of Bucky's neck and pulled him in against him, stroking the back of his neck with his thumb.

“Shh, it's okay. I'll call Sharon and Nat. They'll get a car. We'll take her to the closest animal hospital. She'll be okay.” They climbed back out to the street, both trying to hold up the whimpering dog in as comfortable position as they could.

“Did you... Bucky, did you really want to –“ Steve stopped himself. He sat on the curb with the dog in his lap, stroking her fur lightly, trying to bring her some comfort, trying to calm his shaking hands. Bucky sat close by, his hand gently caressing the dog's head.

“I want to save her,” he said. He glanced up at Steve. “Someone left her. I... if she makes it, so will I.”

The car pulled up and Sharon and Natasha stepped out.

 

* * *

 

 

“She's one ugly dog,” Clint said. Natasha elbowed him. He grunted and rubbed his ribs. “S'true.”

Steve smiled. The afternoon light gave a surreal feel to their happy little apartment. It was officially month two, and Steve tried to ignore the fact that there was a folder in Natasha's lap with his newest assignment.

Bucky was picking up the dog toy he threw on the other side of the living room. Summer wasn't good at fetch. It had nothing to do with her only having three legs. She just wasn't very interested in the game.

“He's alright?” Natasha asked quietly. Steve nodded quickly before Bucky came back. He sat next to Steve on the couch.

“I know you're talkin' bout me,” he said, the accusation clear in his voice. Summer hopped over to him and nosed at the toy. Bucky looked down at her. “Hey, don't go askin' me to throw you shit when you won't fetch it.” He let her grab one end of the half-chewed toy and pulled on it, playing tug-of-war, though the poor dog's rotted teeth were no match for his metal limb.

“She's a very good dog,” Steve said. Clint eyed the patches of skin and the raggedly face.

“She'll fill out,” Bucky agreed. “She's eating well.”

“And you... found her? On the street.”

Bucky looked up with a wide grin. “Yeah, and next I'm gonna find her owner.”

“Ooh,” Steve said, wincing. “I hope not. You're in enough legal trouble as is.”

Clint and Natasha laughed. Bucky laughed, too. He slapped his knees and Summer barked and jumped on, twirling around on his lap until she made herself comfortable and sat nearly obscuring him completely from their guests.

“She thinks she's a lap dog,” Bucky said.

Steve petted Summer's head. “She'll pull through. She's got a surgery tomorrow and some more antibiotics that we gotta pick up. But,” he glanced at Bucky, at his easy smile and genuine adoration for the animal in his lap, “she'll make it.”

 


End file.
